


Lay beside me and listen at the wall

by phanjessmagoria



Series: But I'm always wanting you [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5760163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phanjessmagoria/pseuds/phanjessmagoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was one skateboarder in particular who Michael always hoped to see—it had gotten to the point where Michael was there more often than he was, which was probably sad in a cosmic sort of way, but Michael didn't care. The guy was fucking gorgeous (and his undercut was on point), but that was only, like, a third of the reason why Michael showed up to see him. He was also an amazing skater—not that Michael really knew anything about that objectively, but he always looked good at what he did, and he had a certain kind of confidence that plainly stated that he knew it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay beside me and listen at the wall

The sounds of the wheels on the concrete always sounded hollow to Michael, like there was nothing between the skateboard, the person on top of it, and the hard ground. He supposed there wasn't—at least, nothing physical. There was exceptional balance and centers of gravity and just plain _skill_ that kept these skateboarders upright as they rode around, skipping up over small lips of curb, gliding along rails, or flipping over and around on a halfpipe.

Michael couldn't skate, himself. He just thought it was cool as fuck to watch, seeing how people much more talented than himself could make their bodies move in ways he could never even consider trying, and land perfectly each time. Occasionally he'd see someone wipe the fuck out—they usually got back up pretty quickly, though sometimes with a cut gushing blood. They'd pinch it closed while someone else asked if anyone had anything to wrap around it, and then Michael would watch them hobble away to retrieve their board and go get stitches or whatever.

Nobody really paid him any mind as he walked around the perimeter of the park. He _looked_ like he belonged at a skate park, at least. He had lime green hair, which stuck up at all angles because he didn't know how to style it correctly (not for lack of trying), an eyebrow piercing, and almost exclusively wore black jeans, Vans, and band t-shirts. But he'd never learned how to skate, so he had been reduced to a creeper who was obsessed with watching. He couldn't help it if he thought the shit they did was rad as hell, and it was better to be out watching it in person than sitting at home watching it on YouTube.

There was one skateboarder in particular who Michael always hoped to see—it had gotten to the point where Michael was there more often than he was, which was probably sad in a cosmic sort of way, but Michael didn't care. The guy was fucking gorgeous (and his undercut was on point), but that was only, like, a third of the reason why Michael showed up to see him. He was also an amazing skater—not that Michael really knew anything about that objectively, but he always looked good at what he did, and he had a certain kind of confidence that plainly stated that he knew it, too.

He would show up to the park alone more often than not, but sometimes he would walk in with another guy or two, who would hang around with him for a couple hours before bailing, leaving him alone again. Michael always wanted to approach him—despite his spectacular failure on that part, he had already planned out their first conversation in his head: He'd start by compliment his skating, ask how long he'd been doing it for, then bring up his tattoos. Michael had never gotten close enough to really distinguish what they were, but he could tell just by looking from afar that he had quite a few. Michael also had several—so really, it was a perfect plan. They could talk about their ink and then, maybe, Michael could get this super fucking hot guy to give him skateboarding lessons. And then they could make out.

_Foolproof._

Michael was halfway through his second round of the park, leaning back against the chainlink fence and watching a teenage girl who was teaching her little sister how to ollie, when he heard someone yell a greeting. He glanced over toward the park entrance—it was getting kind of late in the day, so he'd lost hope that his Tattooed Dream Skater™ would show up—but there he was. He was walking in, board under his arm, and waving to his friends. Michael's entire body tensed for a moment—he straightened up against the fence, then pushed off of it, leaving it tinkling faintly in his wake. He didn't walk straight toward the guy—that wouldn't be subtle enough, and at this point, subtlety was his best friend. Michael was fairly certain that the two of them had made accidental eye contact more than once, so he'd likely be recognized if he got close enough, if he hadn't been spotted already—the green hair really didn't help in that respect.

He was nearing the entrance of the park now, where the guy was nodding and talking with his friends, who seemed like they were getting ready to leave. Michael wished they would either move elsewhere or just go, because Michael didn't want to walk past them, but he didn't want to exit the park either, and those were his only two options, lest he just turn around and go back the way he came (and look even more like the world's sketchiest person).

Finally, with one last handshake-bro-hug combo, they left the park, skating down the sidewalk. Michael slowed down, waiting to see where his guy was going. He was walking toward the back of the park, toward the halfpipe—there were only two other people on it, taking turns dropping in. Halfway there, he glanced over his shoulder. Michael felt his stomach sink—the guy had looked right at him, like he knew why he was there. Maybe he should have made a different decision, maybe he should have left—but instead, he followed him over.

It was almost as if he was waiting for Michael when they came face to face. He was crouching down over his upside-down skateboard, flicking the wheels absently so they would spin, while he watched Michael approach.

“You been watching me for a while,” he said, and it was half a question and half an accusation.

Michael considered lying, but just nodded—the guy already knew anyway. “You're really good.”

The guy looked up at him, considering him, then flipped his board back over and stood up. “I know.” He paused again; Michael felt sure that he was going to be told to fuck off, but then the guy held out his hand. “I'm Calum.”

Michael resisted letting his eyes widen at this turn of events. He hadn't expected that the guy— _Calum_ , he now knew—would want anything to do with him after he basically admitted to lowkey creeping on him.

“Michael,” he introduced himself, taking Calum's hand and shaking it.

“So, why do you hang out here if you don't skate?” Calum asked, and Michael actually felt his heart sieze up in his chest. He hadn't thought Calum would call him out on that quite so soon. He swallowed thickly, retracted his hand, and shrugged.

“I just think it's cool,” Michael admitted. “I never learned—never had anyone to teach me, or anything. But I like watching you guys do it.” Michael thought he could see the beginnings of a smile pull at the corner of Calum's lips—who didn't like to be complimented, right?—but his expression didn't change.

“So is that why you hang around watching me? You want me to teach you?” Calum asked, and he sounded kind of amused.

“What?” Michael's voice squeaked when Calum asked—the conversation was way too far off from how Michael had imagined it in his head, and he had to _improvise_. “No.” He realized after a beat that that sounded a little too hostile, like he was annoyed at Calum for asking. He tried again, a little more benign. “No, it's cool.” He tried for an endearing laugh, but it might have come out more psychotic, he couldn't tell. Fuck being anxious and awkward. “You came here to skate—I'll just hang. Maybe next time.”

Calum smirked a little. “All right,” he agreed, nodding and putting one foot on his skateboard. “Next time.”

–

It was dark by the time Calum decided to stop skating. The park was mostly deserted—the girl and her sister had long since left, and only one other kid was still there, over by the rails. When it was just Calum left on the halfpipe, Michael had ventured even closer, actually sitting on the edge and watching Calum as he skated back and forth.

The floodlights on the lampposts around the park had lit up, so even though the sun had set, the area was well-lit. Calum had glanced over at where Michael was sitting, legs folded in front of him, body bent over them as he rested his elbows on his knees, not looking away from him. He snickered a little to himself before dropping in one last time, but instead of using the momentum to propel himself up the other side, he slowed himself down, angling his board toward Michael. He put his back foot flat on the wood beneath his wheels, stopping himself just before the nose of the board would have bumped into Michael's thigh.

“Still here?” Calum asked. Michael just shrugged, scooted over to the edge of the halfpipe and hopped off of it, turning to look back up at Calum, who'd picked up his board.

“Guess so,” he answered, even though he knew it was rhetorical. At least Calum hadn't seemed overly annoyed.

“Want to go grab some tacos?” he asked, not meeting Michael's eyes, but instead looking out at the road. A blue car drove slowly by, its headlights still off even though it was night time.

“Me?” Michael asked. He had meant it in the sense that he was asking if Calum was actually speaking to him—but he remembered a moment later that he was trying not to seem like a fucking dork and played it off, chuckling. “When _don't_ I want to grab tacos?”

Calum huffed a laugh through his nose, then walked over to the edge, stepping down beside Michael. “There's a place not too far from here,” he said, pointing back toward the main area of town, a few blocks away. “That cool?”

Michael literally would have followed Calum anywhere and he would think it was cool—mostly because the arm he was using to point with was the one with at least four tattoos on it, and Michael was a little bit distracted by it. If Calum noticed, he didn't say anything; he just led Michael out of the skate park and up the sidewalk.

They walked in silence until they reached the corner, when Calum spoke. “I'll teach you to skate, if you want.”

Michael glanced over. “Really?”

Calum shrugged. “Sure. Aside from being a stalker, you seem pretty ok.”

“I'm not—” Michael began angrily, turning to face him, but Calum was laughing, his face scrunched up.

“I know you're not,” he said, still giggling a little. “But coming to the skate park just to see me and then never talking to me? Dude, come on. What's that about?”

Michael was glad it was dark and that streetlights were few and far between—his face, he was sure, was bright pink. “I didn't go just to see you. A lot of other people skate there, too, and they're really good.” He looked over and was a little surprised to see Calum looking at him as they walked down the sidewalk.

“If you say so,” he said, his tone making it clear he was still amused and didn't believe Michael, at least not entirely.

“What's Mali-Koa?” Michael asked, nodding to Calum's arm. Calum lifted his arm, still holding his skateboard, to look at the tattoo before lowering it back to his side.

“That's my sister's name,” he replied simply.

“Oh,” Michael said, quickly, nodding. “It's nice. Pretty. The, uh—the name, and the tattoo.”

Calum looked over at him again, snickering a little. “I'll tell her you said so.” He paused, then nodded his head toward Michael's arm. “That from anything?”

Michael knew he meant the tattoo on his elbow, so he just nodded—this was something he felt comfortable talking about. “Yeah. It's from Final Fantasy,” Michael explained, and part of him really expected Calum to know what he meant, but Calum just shook his head and shrugged. “The video game,” Michael added.

“I don't know it,” he said, sounding a little apologetic. “I don't play many games.” He stopped at the next corner they came to, Michael by his side, as traffic passed in front of them.

“Well, I'll show you,” Michael offered. “You teach me to skate, I'll teach you to game.”

Calum chuckled, but nodded. “Sure,” he said. “Done deal.”

Michael grinned as the traffic lights changed and he and Calum walked further on. “It's down the next block,” Calum said after a minute, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. Michael followed him as they rounded the corner, and saw the taco place immediately. It was a small storefront, really just a window in a wall where there was a small line of people waiting. There was a rickety table with a red and green umbrella above it, with two folding lawn chairs set out next to it.

“Sweet, not too crowded,” Calum observed, leading Michael across the street and to the end of the line. “Ever been here before?”

“No,” Michael answered. He wished he had though—it looked awesome. “But it's probably gonna be my new favorite place.”

Calum actually smiled at Michael. “We'll come again another time,” he suggested. “After Final Fantasy.” He poked Michael's tattoo.

Michael smiled back at Calum, nodding. “Hell yeah we will,” he agreed. He didn't live far from here—he usually took a bus across town for a couple of stops, but this taco stand and the skate park were easily within walking distance of his apartment. He looked back the way they'd come, which was where he usually disembarked the bus to walk to the park.

“Do you live around here?” Calum asked, apparently reading Michael's mind. Michael looked back at him and shrugged one shoulder, lifting one hand and twisting it back and forth at the wrist to indicate “sort of.”

“Kinda,” he said. “I live a little bit uptown. You could walk there from here, if you wanted.” Calum nodded, and Michael continued. “You?”

Calum nodded one final time, laughing a little. “I live above this place.” He indicated the taco stand, nodding his head toward it.

“No shit?” Michael asked, looking between Calum and the window, where a man in an apron was currently handing a large bag to a middle-aged couple and their two small children. 

“No shit,” Calum repeated. “It was the cheapest place I could find close to somewhere I could skate.” He shrugged. “I can't keep my windows open unless I want the whole place to smell like ground beef and salsa. Not that I'm complaining. I fucking love tacos.”

Michael laughed as they moved closer to the window—now only a group of younger teenage girls were in front of them. “You definitely picked the right place to live, then.”

Calum gave him another grin as the teenagers giggled—Michael looked over and realized that half of them were looking at himself and Calum. One of them, clearly the most brazen, lifted a hand and waved to Calum, flashing him a wide smile and showing off her braces. Calum returned the smile and they dissolved into a fit of giggles again, all pressing into each other and whispering. Calum was still smiling good-naturedly, but he was looking down at the sidewalk, stained with grease and who knows what else.

“You have a fanclub,” Michael said, smirking. Calum might have been confident as fuck on a skateboard, but now he seemed downright embarrassed.

“They're kids,” Calum said, shaking his head.

“It's because you're so cute,” Michael said, and even he couldn't believe how outright bold (or stupid) that was of him to say. 

Calum took it all in stride—he just laughed and shook his head again. “I bet you say that to every guy at the skate park.”

Finally, the gaggle of girls took their food and left, the one with braces looking back at Calum before they rounded the corner.

“Hey, Cal.” The man in the window was looking at the two of them, and when they walked up, he clapped a large hand onto Calum's shoulder. “The usual?”

“Yeah, sure,” Calum said, and looked over at Michael as the guy—wearing a name tag that read “Raúl” turned and looked over his shoulder, shouting into the back “Usual for Cal!”

“What are you getting?” Calum asked, and Michael looked around for a menu board, or at least some indication of exactly what his options were, but the guy had turned back around and was looking at him expectantly.

“Um. I'll get the same as him,” Michael said, and Raúl nodded, calling over his shoulder “Make that two!” before looking back at them.

“That's $12.50 each,” he quoted them, and the pair of them fumbled for their wallets before pulling out the appropriate amount of money and handing it over. Raúl made their change and ripped off short, paper receipts from the register, giving one to each of them, along with their change.

“Two minutes,” he informed them, and walked into the back to check on their orders.

“So what did I order?” Michael asked, looking at Calum out of the corner of his eye, putting the money away in his wallet.

Calum grinned. “Isn't it better to be surprised?” He just shoved his extra money in his pocket.

Michael hummed, considering it. “Not when it comes to what I'm putting in my mouth.”

Calum laughed at that. “Fair enough. I get a burrito, two tacos, and a couple empanadas.” He paused. “And a churro.”

“How the fuck do you eat that much? You're so...” he gestured at Calum's slim body with both hands.

“The empanadas are small?” Calum said, by way of excusing the utterly comical amount of food they had just ordered.

“Oh, good,” Michael said, trying to pretend he was annoyed, but he was failing because he was smiling and almost laughing right along with Calum.

Raúl returned with two bags, placing them down on the windowsill. “Getcha anything else?” he asked. Calum looked at Michael as they took the bags, paper crinkling in their fists, who shook his head.

“Thanks, but we're good. See you,” Calum said, and he led Michael to the doorway to the left of the window. “Figured we could eat in my place.” He stopped, his hand on the doorknob. “That cool?”

Michael just nodded, not even able to believe his luck—not only had he begun talking to Calum but somewhere along the line they'd become friends enough for Calum to let Michael into his apartment.

“Cool,” Calum repeated, turning the knob. The smell of Mexican spices immediately hit Michael, even more strongly than standing at the window, but Calum shuffled past the doorway that led into the kitchen, and down a short hallway. He leaned his skateboard against the wall as he reached into his back pocket, pulling out a set of keys that were also on a carabiner attached to the back beltloop on his pants. He unlocked the door and pulled it open so Michael could go in first; Michael saw that it opened immediately onto a set of stairs, so he climbed a few and waited. Once Calum entered behind him and locked the door again, Michael continued up the stairs, which creaked under their combined weight.

“Light switch is on your left at the top,” Calum said. It wasn't pitch dark in the stairwell—Calum must have left some other light on in his apartment just for that purpose—but it wasn't as well-lit as it could have been, so Michael's foot fell hard when he reached the top but expected one more step. He groped around on the wall for a switch, and when he felt it, he flicked it on. The light directly above his head blazed to life, illuminating the stairwell and the small apartment.

It was exactly as messy as Michael would have expected. The apartment looked like it had a grand total of two rooms: a living room/kitchen/bedroom and a bathroom. There might have been a closet, but Michael wouldn't have held his breath that there was. There was a coffee table covered in magazines that looked as though they had once been in a pile that had since shifted and cascaded across the table. The futon, which Michael felt sure also doubled as Calum's bed, featured a huge crocheted afghan blanket—it was so huge, in fact, that half of it was pooled on the floor. There was a TV set in the corner, which looked like it was the newest item in the apartment, and was set on top of two milk crates. There were curtains over the windows—but when Michael looked closer he could see they were actually bedsheets.

“Cool place,” Michael said, and he actually really meant it. He still lived at home with his parents—he would have given anything to be out on his own and hang bedsheets on the windows if he wanted to.

“Thanks,” Calum said, sounding defeated. “It doesn't look it, but I actually do keep it clean. Pretty sure my mom thinks I live in squalor, but no. I do own a vacuum. I even have one of those handheld duster things.” Michael nodded along as Calum spoke. “Anyway, we can eat over here,” he pointed to his coffee table, then pushed past Michael to try and straighten up the stack of magazines. When they refused to stay piled neatly, Calum just pushed them to the floor. Michael snickered, and Calum looked up at him. “Hey. It's _messy_ , not _dirty_.”

“I didn't say anything,” Michael said, just laughing as he moved to sit beside Calum on the futon.

They both unrolled the tops of the paper bags and pulled out their food. The burrito was huge—but the tacos and empanadas were, as Calum had stated, smaller.

“Oh, shit,” Calum said after a moment. He stood up. “Want anything to drink? I got...” he trailed off, looking at the ceiling and wrinkling his nose, apparently doing a mental inventory of what was in the refrigerator. “Monster, beer, and I think some soda left...” He crossed the small area and pulled open the door of the fridge, surveying its contents. “Yeah, that's it. What do you like?”

“I'll take a beer,” Michael said, and Calum pulled two frosty bottles from the top shelf. He slammed the fridge door shut, then sat beside Michael again, using a bottle opener from his keyring to open both beers. He offered the first one to Michael, who accepted it and took a sip right away. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” Calum said, unwrapping his burrito and taking a large bite, then cursing with his mouth full when some rice fell to the carpet. Michael watched, amused—he hadn't expected Calum to be such a...regular, cool person. He'd expected it would be much harder to befriend him, but apparently his cockiness only extended to the skate park and that was it.

They ate in silence before Calum straightened up. “Do you like to have the TV on while you eat? Sorry, I didn't even think.” He put down the taco he'd been eating and looked for the remote control, despite Michael's protestations that he didn't mind either way. The remote wasn't visible on the coffee table, so Calum checked under the pile of magazines beside it, and then on the futon itself. Michael was able to finish a whole taco before Calum finally found the remote under a fold of the afghan.

“Got it,” he said, holding it up for Michael to see. 

Michael nodded to him, feigning being impressed. “Good job.”

Calum made a face at him, then flicked the remote at the TV, turning it on. It blinked to life, and Michael almost laughed out loud because it was _the fucking Weather Channel_. Calum was surprising him in every single way possible, and Michael found that it only made him all the more endearing.

“I was expecting, at least, some kind of sports,” Michael said. Calum looked back at him.

“Oh, I can find some, probably,” he said, starting to switch through the channels. Michael reached over and grabbed Calum's tattooed wrist.

“Don't worry about it. Finish your food,” he said, and Calum looked first at Michael's face, then his hand on his wrist, then back to his face. Michael didn't get any kind of vibe that Calum wanted him to move his hand away, but he did anyway. Maybe they had tension. Like, the sexual kind. That would be _awesome_.

“I'll just find something...” He pushed the numbers for a specific channel on the remote, and grinned when it switched to what he was hoping it'd be: Pokémon. “Yes!” he said, putting the remote down on the table. “I loved this show when I was a kid.”

“I still love it now,” Michael said. He had eaten half his burrito, both his tacos, and he was already too full to continue—although he was nibbling on the end of his churro. Calum bit an empanada in half and settled back on the futon with his bottle of beer, watching the show.

“Which one was your favorite?” Michael asked.

Calum laughed, shrugging one shoulder. “I don't even remember what half of them are called. I never played many games, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Michael said, and he had a very important choice to make: Lie and pretend that he didn't care about Pokémon either, or be honest and admit that he cared very, very much about Pokémon. (Understatement.)

“What about you?” Calum asked, looking over.

“Pikachu,” Michael answered, so quickly that Calum laughed a little.

“That's the yellow mouse with the lightning bolt tail,” Calum said, sounding fairly sure about it. Michael nodded excitedly to confirm this. “I guess you're a big fan,” he continued.

“Yes,” Michael said, not even bothering to try to save face. “That would be accurate.”

Calum popped the last bite of the empanada into his mouth, took a swig of beer, and nodded—he didn't have to fake being impressed. “That's cool. I know it's really popular—I guess I just missed the boat.”

Michael actually had to bite back an S.S. Anne quip because Calum wouldn't get it, so he just changed tack. “I probably have an old Gameboy around somewhere. I'll lend it to you with one of the games. It's fun. And you don't _really_ have to catch them all, though I do highly recommend it.”

Calum finished off the last of his beer, placing the bottle on the table. “Final Fantasy and Pokémon and skateboarding lessons. We're going to be busy boys.”

It sounded like a little more than a casual comment to Michael, but he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it, so he just proceeded as though there wasn't any undertone to what Calum said. “Yeah, well. You have a lot of digital media to catch up on.”

“True,” Calum said, conceding the point as the Pokémon episode ended and another cartoon that Calum wasn't familiar with began. “Do you like this show?”

Michael looked past Calum at the screen, then shook his head. “Nah. You can put the weather back on.”

Calum laughed, reaching for the remote. “I was thinking maybe some music. We can just chill.”

Michael shrugged, but then nodded. “Yeah, all right. What do you listen to?”

“All kinds of shit,” Calum said, leaning over the side of the futon to grab a Mac laptop that had clearly seen better days and was covered with so many stickers the logo was barely visible. “But I was thinking maybe some blink.”

Michael grinned and turned a little to face Calum, who had pushed the last vestiges of his food further back on the table and set up his laptop in its place. “I love blink.”

Calum glanced at him, and when he saw Michael smiling so widely at him, he smiled back. “Awesome. Not to be a dick but if you didn't, we couldn't be friends.”

Michael lifted his right hand. “I solemnly swear I fucking love blink-182. Don't worry.”

Calum chuckled a little to himself as he scrolled through his iTunes library, finally giving up and choosing to sort it by Artist, then clicking blink-182 on the side. “Should we start anywhere specific?” He turned the laptop toward Michael, looking at him.

The question was clearly about the music, but Calum was hunched over, his face was face lit up blue on one side from the glow of the laptop screen, and he looked so fucking good that Michael leaned forward too, under the pretense of getting a better look at the computer. “How about here?” he said, but instead of pointing at a song title or indicating an album he'd prefer to hear, he kept his eyes locked on Calum's and closed the distance between them, brushing their lips together for a second. It was literally the smoothest thing he had ever done in his life and he was immensely proud of himself. From talking about Pikachu to kissing a dude in less than five minutes. _Michael Clifford_ , he thought to himself, _you are a fucking boss._

“Ok,” Calum said, and Michael thought for a moment that the best move _fucking ever_ was about to be rejected, but then Calum continued. “But let's pick something to listen to first.” He gave Michael a crooked half-smile and looked back at the computer. Michael shifted a little closer to Calum, the sides of their thighs pressing together as Michael looked over the albums. He clicked on “Anthem Part Two,” and when it started, Calum turned the computer back toward him and lowered the volume a bit, making sure all blink's music would repeat, if it came to that. He lowered the screen of the laptop most of the way, so it would stay on but not shine right at them.

Calum straightened up a bit, moving away from Michael but only to settle himself back on the futon again. Michael watched him, trying not to make it obvious that he was staring at Calum's lips.

“So, where were we?” Calum asked, leg bouncing just a little to the rhythm of the song coming from his laptop's speakers.

Michael turned his body to face Calum, moving further onto the futon to be closer to him, more aligned—he leaned closer to Calum again and this time, Calum met him in the middle for a kiss, parting his lips almost immediately against Michael's. Michael wasn't _inexperienced_ —like, he definitely made it a point to make out with as many cute people as possible—but he kind of felt like Calum was on another level sexually. Maybe that was because Michael had built this up so much—but Calum was kissing him like he never wanted to stop, sucking Michael's tongue for a moment before pulling away and trailing his lips down over Michael's jaw, his neck, tucking his face under his chin to kiss along his collarbone. Michael whined softly as Calum pulled away from him. He lowered his hands to the hem of Michael's shirt, but stopped before doing anything else.

“This is cool, right? I mean—if you just want to make out, we can just make out.” Calum held Michael's gaze as the song faded into the next one on the computer. Michael nodded vehemently—this was _so_ cool.

“Yes. It's cool. I'm cool. We are totally, totally cool,” he said, and instead of waiting for Calum to pull his shirt up, Michael did it himself, tugging it up over his head and tossing it to the floor. Calum smirked, amused, and removed his shirt as well. Michael's eyes raked over Calum's chest—he had even more tattoos than Michael had initially thought. Instead of asking about them, though, Michael leaned forward to kiss Calum's chest where they adorned his skin, and as he did, Calum leaned back, away from him, which only enticed Michael to keep moving forward, eventually ending up on top of him. The futon was roomy—but not overly so—and if they wanted to do anything other than kiss, one of them was going to have to get up and lower the back. For now, though, this was enough.

Michael had moved his legs to either side of Calum's, resting their hips together, so his weight was bearing down on Calum there, and only there. Calum moved his hands to Michael's shoulders, trying to pull him down for a kiss as Michael rolled his hips down against Calum's. Even with two layers of denim between them, the friction still felt great—and Calum moved his hands down to Michael's hips instead, holding him in place as they ground together.

Calum could feel his cock chubbing up, but Michael's skinny jeans didn't really allow for his arousal to be noticed as easily. “Are you—should I—?” he choked out, biting his lip because Michael hadn't stopped moving over him. Calum slid his hands up a little, squeezing Michael's waist to stop him. It worked: Michael stilled above him.

“What?” he asked.

“Should I put this down?” Calum asked, lifting one hand and tapping the back of the futon with the back of his hand.

“Yes,” Michael answered, pushing himself up off of Calum, who missed the warmth and weight on top of him, but wriggled out from beneath Michael anyway and stood up, rounding the side of the futon and leaning back behind it to lay it flat. The back moved slightly toward Michael, then away from him, laying flat and doubling the area they had to work with. Michael crawled over toward the middle of the space, and Calum kicked off his shoes before just stepping right over the arm—but instead of sitting down to face Michael, he undid the button and fly of his pants, pushing them down over his boxers. Michael watched, looking up at Calum, and not missing his dick, clearly visible because of the way the fabric was taut around it. Calum stepped out of his pants and dropped them beside him, kicking them a little out of the way, then knelt down in front of Michael.

“Still cool?” he asked, primarily because Michael was still staring at him without moving.

Michael blinked and looked up at Calum—he would never admit to what he had been doing, which was staring at the peak of fabric and thinking about how in a few minutes, he would probably get to see Calum completely naked—then nodded when he realized he'd been asked a question. He rose up to stand on his knees. “Yes, still cool,” he said, unzipping his jeans, though he had a bit of a tougher time getting them down around his thighs. His boxer briefs were still tight around his body, and they left nothing to the imagination—his cock was clearly straining against the fabric, which was holding it mostly flat against the front of his thigh. He sat back and rolled his legs in front of him, pulling his jeans off. He laughed a little, embarrassed, when Calum's hands tugged off his shoes and then tugged on the legs of the jeans, helping him to remove them.

“Don't know how you wear pants like that,” he said, pushing Michael's jeans to the side along with his own before moving nearer to Michael, placing one hand on the back of his neck to pull him in for another kiss. Michael's hand seemed to have a life of its own—it automatically moved between Calum's legs, cupping his cock through the cotton of his underwear, rubbing the length with his palm. Calum whimpered against his mouth, but Michael didn't stop; he moved his other hand to the waistband and pushed it down, exposing Calum's dick so he could wrap his hand fully around it, stroking him. Calum licked against Michael's lips, kissing him again, but Michael pulled back. Calum leaned up, chasing his lips, but gave up when Michael sat back on his feet. He propped himself up on his elbows, waiting to see what Michael was going to do next—Calum actually didn't care as long as he kept touching him. Blink-182 was still going faintly in the background, and Calum couldn't help but nearly snicker—it wasn't exactly the best kind of music to get them in the mood (Mark Hoppus was currently singing about how many hot dogs his grandpa just ate), but it still seemed to fit with them overall.

“Move back, just a bit?” Michael asked, and Calum adjusted his position so he was nearly against the wooden arm of the futon, giving Michael plenty of room to pull his boxers off and then settle between his legs. Calum's legs were bent at the knee, spread open for Michael, who was already nosing at his thighs.

“No more time to waste, huh?” Calum asked, as the song changed yet again—and he was secretly glad for that, because he wasn't sure he wanted to get head while listening to a song about incontinence.

“Took me long enough to talk to you,” Michael mumbled, leaning in a little further and propping himself up on his elbows. “So, yeah, exactly.” Without waiting any longer, he shifted all his weight to one elbow and took Calum's cock in his hand, angling it into his mouth. He sucked the head, letting his hand drag down the shaft before moving back up, slowly jerking him off against his tongue. Calum sighed softly and bit his lip, resisting the urge to roll his hips up into Michael's mouth—even though he felt reasonably certain that this wasn't the first time Michael had done this, he still didn't want to give him too much too fast.

Michael sucked at the head before taking a little more into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks out as he did—and surreptitiously rolled his hips against the futon below him. He moaned softly around Calum's cock, and Calum was fucking ecstatic that he'd lowered the music just enough that he could hear every wet noise Michael's mouth was making around him, every little noise that emanated from his throat and chest.

Calum rested his back against the arm of the futon—it wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, but he could deal, because Michael's lips looked like they were made to be wrapped around his dick. He moved one hand to Michael's hair, threading through it—it was softer than he assumed it would be, and Calum pet him for a moment before Michael took most of Calum's length into his mouth, swallowing hot and tight around him, and Calum's hand curled into a fist, tugging Michael's hair. “ _Fuck_ ,” Calum groaned.

The swear was nothing but encouragement to Michael, who had shifted himself up a little onto his knees. He balanced himself on his left elbow, holding Calum's dick steady for himself with his left hand, and reached down between his legs with his right, cupping himself through his underwear. He didn't mind getting off this way, not when the dick in his mouth was Calum's—the motherfucker he'd been lusting after for weeks. After another few moments of Calum's breathy sighs, Michael decided to forgo teasing himself and moved his hand inside his underwear, the waistband pressing against his wrist as he jerked himself off. He moaned loudly around Calum's cock, and the vibration from the noise just made Calum pull his hair a little harder and roll his hips up, deeper into Michael's mouth.

Michael swallowed around his cock again, but he could feel his own saliva dripping onto his hand. He pulled off for a moment, slowing his hand around himself, and licked up the underside of Calum's cock, making eye contact with him as he did. Calum whined, pushing his hips closer to Michael, who just smirked at him, licking his pink lips. Calum mumbled “Please, fuck, _please_ ,” before Michael listened to his begging and took him back into his mouth. Calum's eyes were squeezed shut, and the soft moan that he gave was the only warning Michael had before Calum came in his mouth. Michael swallowed, sucking at the tip of Calum's cock as he jerked himself as quickly as he could. He pulled off of Calum with a gasp, palm flat against the futon and back arching as he finally got himself off. He came, the taste of Calum still on his tongue, and after his body relaxed, he really fucking wished he'd had the foresight to push his underwear down. But that was the least of his concerns—because Calum was leaning up a little, hands hooking under his arms to pull Michael closer, pull Michael on top of him, to kiss him. Michael, of course, let him.

Neither of them knew which song was playing by the time they moved again—they weren't even listening closely enough to be sure if it was the same album anymore—but it didn't matter. Michael had stripped off his dirty underwear and relocated to the spot beside Calum, who had moved away only to drape the afghan over the pair of them as they laid still, wrapped up in each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr: [maybeillfindyouhere](http://maybeillfindyouhere.tumblr.com) • Come say hi!
> 
> _Title from "Roller Coaster" by blink-182._


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